


Billion Dollar Games Played One Quarter At A Time

by Magical-Robins (DeletedBecauseShy)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fucking with the Timeline for my own amusement, Gen, Lazarus Pit Madness, One Shot turned Two Shot turned Three Shot, POV Alternating, Timeline Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeletedBecauseShy/pseuds/Magical-Robins
Summary: —At first, Bruce assumes its some sort of Grave robber. That whoever keeps taking the items left on the grass is a simple thug. That they could be easily caught.Dick assumes the same thing. After all, why would flowers remain in their vases while anything that could be useful is taken overnight? Why would small trinkets and pictures be left untouched but coins and antiques were gone come morning.—
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 186





	1. Red Stained Change

At first, Bruce assumes its some sort of Grave robber. That whoever keeps taking the items left on the grass is a simple thug. That they could be easily caught. 

Dick assumes the same thing. After all, why would flowers remain in their vases while anything that could be useful is taken overnight? Why would small trinkets and pictures be left untouched but coins and antiques were gone come morning. 

Bruce is the first to do something about it, setting up a small security cam that covered the grave day in and day out. That morning, he leaves a dime on the worn stone and mourns like any other day. That night, he waits, anxiously checking the footage in his full gear. 

By sunrise, no one had shown up on the small screen. The small chime attached to the side sings its usual tune and the grass sways. He can barely see the dime from where the camera is located; it’s nothing more than a small, silver speck on the screen. No one had come in the night to take it. So, like before, he puts a coin in his pocket and walks towards the manor’s large garden. 

He is only a few years away when he sees it. Where the quarter once was, only a small, plastic coin sat tails side up. Strangely, everything besides the coin in perfect; the pictures are all intact and upright, the flowers are still in their vases, and the ever-growing pile of pebbles courtesy of Kate is still a perfect pyramid. 

Bruce continues to stare at the innocent-seeming toy as of its a threat. It is far from the right dimensions, way too thick and with overly rounded edges. He taps it against the metal of his phone; it’s plastic. A plastic coin that is obviously fake, not even an attempt at making a counterfeit. 

The heads side is the only thing separating it from an insensitive prank. The childish caricature of Washington smeared with long-dried blood. Quickly, he produces a small container from the inner pocket of his jacket, dropping the coin in to avoid further contamination. 

It only takes a few minutes to walk back to the manor and into the cave. The coin is heavy in his pocket the whole time. 

“Tim, run an analysis on this sample. Contact me when it’s done.” It’s more of a command than he means it to be. Unintentionally brash and gruff. The boy doesn’t comment on it, taking the bag and pulling on a pair of gloves. 

It’s only about 15 minutes later that the boy pokes his head out of the cave to call for Bruce. Waiting patiently for him to come with. It’s on the long stairway that he finally talks. “The blood is from a guy named Ronald Sharpe, about a day old. Looked him up on the computer and got some interesting results. Check this out.” 

As soon as he was within reach, Tim’s fingers danced across the keyboard. Within a minute he had a preexistent file pulled up on the main screen. The cursor helpfully highlighted his known affiliations and expertise. Ronald Sharpe was, or had been, the head the largest gang in northern Gotham. Now, he was quite possibly dead. Dead, and the Batman hadn’t even known. 

That night, Bruce leaves out two coins, a dime and a quarter. He also adds two more cameras in different locations, both with a direct view of the coin in high enough definition to zoom in on from his tablet.  
—  
Sneaking past one camera, even one aimed directly at the target, is easy. It’s only difficult when there’s more than one. 

Jason knows he won’t be able to sneak past all three cameras. He also knows that attempting to hack into the feed isn’t exactly his expertise. But, nowhere in the rules of their twisted little game does it say he can’t take a more hands-on approach. Sure, taking out all three would be suspicious. However, no one would bat an eye if one or two of them was nudged by a bird. A jaybird or a robin, perhaps? It’s surprisingly likely. 

No, the tricky part is resisting the urge to leave a more noticeable mark, to make it clear what is going on. It’s about the long game, he reminds himself. It’s about the long game, he thinks while switching out the coins for the fakes in his pocket.  
—  
“Tim, I have more samples, are you busy?” The two bloodstained coins are in a similar bag as the day before. The entire situation is eerily familiar. At least, it would be if Tim actually took the samples like before. 

“I’ll start but you gotta see this. Apparently, there’s a new crime lord in the business. Calls himself the Red Hood. Here, take a look.” His tone is surprisingly casual as he takes the bag from Bruce’s open hands for testing. 

Sure enough, a new leader has emerged in the Gotham underground with a painfully familiar name. Logically Bruce knows it can’t be Joker, that Joker is still sitting in his cell. But, if Bruce anonymously requests for extra security around Arkham, who would blame him?

The computer dinged as it spat back out the samples, pulling up another file along with the ones Tim had already opened. Right across the top, in bold letters, was another familiar name: Maya Ross, the Queen of eastern Gotham, another mob boss.  
—  
Jason knows he has fully established their little spat as a game; Bruce leaves a coin or two while increasing the security and Jason gets to brag about his latest kill. It’s a game now. 

A bloody, twisted game. 

Now, there are five cameras, all positioned perfectly to cover each other. It’s easier that night than before. After all, if Bruce can use fancy toys, why can’t he?  
—  
The next day it’s the blood of one Eric Hall coating half of a child’s play toy. Like the others, he is, or was, a crime boss of Gotham. Specifically, the king of trafficking, if rumours were to be believed. 

The same day, the body Ronald Sharpe, the first victim, is found by police. His skull had been fractured in multiple different places, leading to a TBI that would eventually kill him. It wasn’t the fatal wound that Bruce was concerned about though. No, it was the horrific brand across his chest. One that, due to thé scarring, had happened while he was still alive. The bat seemed to come alive on his pale skin, a violent red burn that would never heal. 

On the wall of the warehouse they had been found in, bloody words painted the walls. It was Ronald’s blood that spelt out the short sentence. 

YOU SURE REPLACED ME QUICK  
—  
By the fourth night, Jason was almost out of kills he was actually proud of, almost. After that night, the stakes would rise. 

Good, he had been waiting after all. 

Zoe Reed was the last major crime boss in Gotham, her blood was dark as the others.  
—  
Maya Ross’s and Eric Hall’s bodies were found together. Their ribs had been crushed inward, puncturing their lungs. Police had discovered their bodies in another abandoned warehouse. Again, blood dripped down the walls. This time, two sentences were spelt out in red. 

BLAME THE ONE WHO TOOK ME

I WANT REVENGE

The next morning, the coins were untouched. Sitting on the grave like they had the night before. No blood, no plastic, no theft.  
—  
Jason only half regretted not being able to make it to his grave by sunrise. It had taken longer than he had hoped to acquire his next sample and time had simply run out. Still, he was able to dump the last body and call in a tip on schedule.  
—  
Zoe’s death had been the bloodiest. A bullet to the head that still wept blood when Bruce arrived at the scene. He told Gordon about how it would likely be the last body, conveniently leaving out why he suspected so. 

He didn’t comment on the words before leaving the scene. 

TOMORROW THE FINALE STARTS, B  
—  
True to his word, Jason prepared a special surprise for that day. 

The freak’s blood wasn’t even the right shade of red.  
—  
The coins he had left out two days before were finally sullied. They lay face up with more blood than before, excess dripping down the stone grave ominously. 

Even more blood was spilt out onto the text. Jason’s name buried behind another threat. 

ITS BEEN FUN, ONE MORE DAY

The tests initially came back without a match. At least, until he expanded the search for unnamed people. Then, he got his result. 

Unnamed file #13, Alias: Joker. 

He didn’t know how the mysterious person could’ve possibly gotten the Joker’s blood. All he had were the handful of clues that had been left. 

The person knew who he was, knew about Jason, wanted revenge, could easily fly past his security and had been replaced at some point. He couldn’t think of any suspects that weren’t currently in Arkham, or dead. 

He didn’t leave a coin out that night.  
—  
He could barely feel the needle when he pierced the tip of his finger. He only felt a slight sting when he pushed his own blood out onto the plastic coin. 

It was a weird feeling to push an open wound against chipping stone, an oversensitive, dusty feeling.  
—  
Bruce woke up to find that all of his cameras had been destroyed. Clearly, his opponent was done playing fair. Or, more likely, done playing. 

He did the bare minimum before rushing out. Past Alfred and Tim, past the old family portraits, past the now-empty room. 

Finally, he got to the grave. 

Joker’s blood still soaked half of the stone; but, now the other side was covered as well. In place of a coin, one of the pictures Dick liked to leave had been painted red. Faintly, he remembered it was the one of him and Jason in pyjamas after their first patrol. Jason, with his Batman pyjamas and Bruce in a matching Wonder Woman set. 

He put it in a bag for testing. 

The text, however, he didn’t need to take note of. No, he would remember. 

TONIGHT, MIDNIGHT, PIER

The blood was a positive match in their database. A positive match for one Jason Todd, deceased.


	2. Plastic Coins are a Child’s Toy, Use Metal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —  
> He can feel the way the madness is affecting his mind; it twists his thoughts into demented versions. To try and resist is impossible; it’s just so much easier to just give in and pull the trigger whenever a problem arises.
> 
> Didn’t Bruce understand what he had done? He had crossed the line time and time again. His hands were stained red.  
> —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s here! The feedback was so positive I knew I had to continue this. I hope everyone who had been waiting enjoys it as much as the first part and anyone new is pleasantly superidee.

The Red Hood makes the news again that night after a baker’s dozen of Arkham escapees are found inside a warehouse. Unlike the previous murders, the Red Hood leaves nothing behind. 

It’s easy to notice that Batman is plagued by something. Robin leads the police briefing while the man himself sulks under cover of the shadows; he’s waiting. 

The clock ticks by as if each second had been elongated. Midnight seemed as if it would never occur. 

He knows it could be an elaborate trap, that anyone from Joker to Riddler could meet him at the docks. Yet, he goes anyways. The idea of the impossible happening is overwhelming.  
—  
Jason doesn’t know if Bruce will actually come. He doesn’t even know if he wants him too. Who knows what will happen if he does, if it will send Jason into a spiral until he finally pulls the trigger on the antagonist of his story. 

The game had been easy, steal a coin and leave a gift. Mess with the opponent. 

This, however, was different. Now they would be face to face, no more messages, no more coins.  
—  
The pier is empty when Bruce finally arrives. A single figure stands with a cloak of shadow nearer to the water, just out of the warm hug of an overhead lamp. Reluctantly, they step forward, the bright light reflecting off of the red metal helm. 

“Red Hood.”

“Bruce.” The voice is modulated and static-like. What it’s hiding, Bruce can barely imagine. 

Bruce considers steeping into the light himself, allowing himself to be seen by the killer across the pier. 

The Red Hood is an inch taller than him with a sturdy build covered in Kevlar and leather. With hooters and sheaths on his hips and thighs, it’s obvious he should be treated like any other a dangerous and armed opponent. 

It’s the use of his real name that stuns Bruce. After all, he can count on one hand the number of people who know, and he has tabs in all of them. None of them could be the Red Hood without him knowing already.  
—  
Jason tries as hard as he can not to run away, to face his greatest fear and biggest hope. Bruce is right there. Right there, and close enough to put a bullet through cleanly. 

But, he can feel the way the madness is affecting his mind; it twists his thoughts into demented versions. To try and resist is impossible; it’s just so much easier to just give in and pull the trigger whenever a problem arises. 

The pit morphed him into a weapon, something he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to change. He was doomed to follow the darkest path, the urges were always lurking just behind him.  
—  
The Red Hood is cautious when he finally moves, knowing that at even the smallest hint of danger, Bruce would attack. Still, his hands move slowly up and behind his head, searching blindly for the release trigger at his neck. 

There is a hiss of air when the back panel finally opens wide enough to remove, a clink of metal as the two plates slide away from each other. A screech of metal against wood can be heard throughout the docks when the helmet falls to the floor. 

White lenses still cover his eyes behind the domino mask. His hair is pressed to his head before he ruffles it back into place, running his fingers through the prominent white streak in the process.

Immediately, Bruce staggered forward towards his lost boy, stopping only when Jason twitched away. 

Jason, the touch starved, cuddle bug that he was sure he had lost, flinched away when he approached. At least, for a second anyways. 

The next second Bruce was balancing an extra two hundred pounds secured around his body by the surprising strong arms wrapped around his chest. He can hear his son sniff and begin to cry into his chest at the contact, melting internally at the sad sight before him.  
—  
Jason doesn’t know how to feel. Was this even what he wanted? Or had he wanted to spill blood? 

The game wasn’t supposed to end like this! It was supposed to end with a red river spilling into the harbour at midnight. 

Didn’t Bruce understand what he had done? He had crossed the line time and time again. His hands were stained red. 

The pit had controlled him for far too long, driven him to lure Bruce in, to eventually kill him. It was always there, a tainted green blur bringing him to warehouses and cemeteries for sick thrills. 

The messages though, those had been him. His one chance to truly express himself to Bruce in the only way the pit would let him: blood. 

To him, they were works of art. They were a combination of a removal of Earth’s scum and what he would only ever say through words.  
—  
Jason’s hands desperately grabbed for something to hold onto while he pressed his forehead into the man’s chest childishly. Quiet pleas spill forth suddenly; Cries for help fill the air. “Help, please. I can’t control it. Kill me if you need to. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Just, please help me.” 

He can feel hands run through his hair protectively, silently urging him back into the shadows Bruce had originally come from. The man shushes him kindly, reassuring that nothing bad will happen anymore and how happy he was to see his son again. 

Bruce eventually picks him up like a father would a child, holding him tightly against his chest while he walks back to the Batmobile. 

Eventually, Jason feels himself be gently placed on a padded seat with a belt secured around his waist. His eyes had long since closed to stop more tears from escaping and his breath was coming in quick, forced bursts. 

On the centre panel of the car, Bruce sent a message to Alfred, Tim, Dick, and Barbara before switching on autopilot. It was a short, curt message ‘meet at the cave in 10 minutes, civvies.’ 

He watched from the other seat while the car drove itself back to the Cave. Jason’s eyes had finally uncreased and fallen closed naturally; his breath evening out and slowing down to a healthy rate that showed signs of light sleep. He had exhausted himself over the last half hour. Heaven only knows how much sleep he had even had to begin with the night prior.  
—  
It feels like an eternity had passed before he finally pulled into the cave-like a thousand days had come and gone in the 10 minutes since he first sat down to send out the message. 

Now, 4 figures were gathered around expectingly. Both Tim and Dick had likely been awoken by the message, with ruffled hair and crinkled clothes they both stumbled around the cave. Barbara, it seemed, had just been about to retire; her hair was damp and held back in a loose ponytail and her glasses were gone entirely. Alfred though was as pristine as always. Bruce still wasn’t sure he ever actually slept. 

“I just drove 15 miles in 10 minutes, this better be important, B.” 

“I’m with Dick, we carpooled you didn’t answer either of us. What happened?” 

“I didn’t have to drive, just walk down some stairs, but you did wake me up.” 

Dick, Barbara, and Tim were quick to voice their concerns, questioning his strange behaviour relentlessly until he walked around the other side of the bat-mobile. The door opened silently, revealing the sleeping boy within. 

He carefully lifted Jason’s body out of the car, mindful to not jostle him awake in the process. The boy seemed to have nearly doubled in height and weight, from the scrawny, malnourished Jaybird into a frame that was similar (larger even in some aspects) than the Batman’s. 

There’s a small thud when he finally sat the body down onto one of the beds in the medbay, footsteps and wheels following close behind. When Jason’s face is no longer hidden in Bruce’s shoulder, Dick speaks. “Jason. He’s-...”, the young man can’t finish his sentence, allowing Tim to continue for him. 

“No, Dick, look. That’s the Red Hood’s armour. It’s a trick of some sort, and a twisted one at that.” Neither Barbara nor Alfred speak. Content to watch silently from the sidelines and assist Bruce with setting up an IV. 

“You’re both right. It’s Jason and the Red Hood, and right now, he needs our help. If you don’t believe me,” he pulls a small syringe out of his suit, poking into Jason’s skin enough to draw blood before handing it off to Tim. “test it for yourself.” 

Tim runs off with the goal immediately, combing back a short time later with a nod to Bruce and a look of guilt. 

They are all gathered around the small bed, sitting and standing wherever possible. There’s a veil of uncertainty over the entire room, debating whether to stay or go. 

The others finally begin to leave slowly after waiting an hour. Once they’re content that Jason won’t be waking up anytime soon, they begin to trickle out. Barbara leaving with Dick, Tim ascending back up the stairs, and Alfred returning to his previous chores. Bruce doesn’t leave; he stays in the small chair in the medbay. 

His hand is heavy over Jason’s own on the small medical cot.  
—  
He doesn’t sleep that night, too busy keeping an eye on his son's vitals to risk even a small amount of rest. All the monitors report healthy numbers; besides the obvious psychological trauma, Jason is completely healthy. 

However, not even a clean bill of health can cure Jason’s night terrors. No, he still shakes and quivers like the small child Brice had originally taken in. His breathing and heart rate picked up from the images in his mind. 

The hand under Bruce’s flips palm up, squeezing tightly. The older man can barely hear the whimper; it’s nearly as silent as the wind. “Dad.” 

“I’m here, Jaybird, I’m here. Don’t worry. Just sleep, ok? I’ll be here when you wake up.” He doesn’t know is Jason is awake enough to hear him, to fully comprehend what is going on. But, the boy does seem to have at least registered his voice. 

“Okay.” It’s a murmur at best, floating away seconds after it leaves his lips. 

Whatever had plagued Jason slowly relents. His breathing evens out; His heart rate slows to a steady pace. Bruce still sits by his bed, fulfilling his promise to stay until his boy awakens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I left it slightly open ended. I wanted to have a definitive ending but also thought about (maybe, MAYBE!) another part. That will most likely depend on the feedback though. 
> 
> Check out my Batfam side blog as well!  
> [A Worm of Robins](https://being-robin-is-magical.tumblr.com/)


	3. If I had a dime for every time I thought about this moment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, Please! Read this!!!  
> \--  
> The Alt ending is a lot darker than the rest of this work. The following, although not tagged, do appear in the work (alt ending only dw)   
> \- Thoughts of Suicide  
> \- Assisted Suicide  
> \- Overdose

Jason didn’t wake up again for a few hours. Barely moving from his coma-like state. Alfred had set up an IV to keep him hydrated, complaining about his poor condition as he did so. The boy had obviously been dehydrated and overworked for a while before Bruce finally found him. 

As soon as the old man left, he began to prepare an array of cookies and small cakes. The boy’s blood sugar hadn’t been to his standards, especially not for a bat.   
—  
Bruce, though, never left the small room. Scans showed Jason had all been running on adrenaline alone, explaining why he passed out as soon as his body deemed the surroundings to be safe. 

It wouldn’t be much longer until he woke up, another hour or two at most he guessed. 

[?:!/&/$-(  
—  
Jason finally wakes to the familiar feeling of Lazarus running through his veins, a silent but ever-present urge to destroy and kill. It’s the same feeling that had followed him for the last 4 months. It was inescapable for him. 

There’s a second that he almost gives in like he had so many times before. He can still remember waking up for the briefest moment before the waves of anger and jealousy wiped over him. It was only in those moments that he truly felt like himself. He doesn’t know if it’s the comforting weight over his hand or the humid air of the Cave that allows him to overcome it, something that he is rarely able to do. 

He can count on one hand the number of times he’s fought the urges rather than letting himself fall victim to them. Only one of those times did something good actually come from it. 

Still, all that matters to him is that he resists it. He lets the wave wash over him when before he allowed himself to be forced down by its power. 

“Bruce?” The voice is small and timid, the opposite of what he expects from someone of Jason’s size. Even if it does worry him, he’s happier to finally see his boy’s eyes again, eyes that are far greener and brighter than he remembered.

“Yeah, Jay. I’m here. Do you need anything?” Bruce tries, he really does, to contain the excitement and happiness in his voice. He forces it into the usual monotone drone that the kids always make fun of him for. 

“Water...” 

“Masters, I have a small snack for the two of you. I must also say that Master Timothy has awoken and wishes to be updated on the situation.” Alfred is just as proper and British as Jason remembered. Though, possibly a little more tire. 

“Good morning to you too, Alfie.” 

“Apologies, Master Jason, good morning.” Even Jason can see the joy in the old butler’s eyes, however hard he works to maintain his ‘perfect butler’ aesthetic. 

“Jason,” Bruce looked at him eye to eye, “are you up for company? I know you don’t know everyone; but, I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” 

He took a second to think about it before nodding approvingly, albeit, not without one small clause. “Who all would it be?” 

Bruce, just happy to have his son back, is quick to answer. “Well, you know Dick and Barbara. There’s Tim, he’s the current Robin; Duke is the Signal if you’ve heard of him; Steph was Batgirl, she’s Spoiler now; Cass is the current Batgirl. Of course, they wouldn’t all come at once. Duke is likely on Patrol, and most of the others live at least 15 minutes away without traffic.” Again, Jason stopped to consider his options, not wanting to overwhelm himself too soon. But, one or two more people couldn’t hurt; he should be able to stay whelmed. 

“I’d like to meet Tim first if you don’t mind.” Bruce nodded to Alfred at the idea, a silent instruction to bring down the younger boy.   
—  
A few minutes later has Tim wobbling down the staircase on sleep-weakened legs. His eyes scan around 

“So, where did he find you? Alleyway again, or maybe side of the street.” Tim’s face reddens at the question, looking over at Bruce for help. 

“Go ahead Tim, you can tell him.” There’s an edge in Bruce’s voice that gives away just how juicy the story must be. 

There’s a muffled sob of ‘please don’t make me say it’ before the young boy can finally steel himself and tell the story. “Well, it's a funny story actually. You see, I was 1, not homeless or an orphan, yet, 2, kinda smart, and 3, reckless as all hell. I- um...” Bruce gives him another look, prompting him to continue. “I knew who you were back when you were Robin. Dick have it away, long story, anyways I just kinda...” 

The voice grows too quiet for Jason to hear. He lifts an eyebrow expectingly, too curious to let the story end. “I blackmailed the Batman. I basically forced his hand.” 

Jason tried and failed, to hold off his laughing for a respectable amount of time. The kid couldn’t have been more than 16 and he seemed to have been with the rest of the family a while, at least a year or two. So, a 13, maybe 14, year-old had blackmailed the big scary bat. 

There were some things Jason kinda missed not being able to witness. He added that one to the list. 

Eventually, Tim had to leave after getting a class. Jason assumed the boy must have a mythology class or babysitting judging by the incessant muttering of ‘Titans’, ‘Young’, and ‘Gods’.   
—  
Barely an hour later, two stray blurs of yellow and purple blasted into the cave, leaving a whirlwind in their path. 

The one dressed in all black and purple jumped off the motorcycle first, leaving the armoured kid to actually park it. “B, Brucie, Batbitch! You are never going to believe what happened on patrol. So, me an’ Duke are chasing this guy, like right in his tail. Then, the shadows, the fucking shadows, wrap around his head like some sort of tentacle porn creature from the black lagoon and-“ she finally looks up before almost walking straight into Bruce. “Who, in the ever living hell, is that? Why is he here?”

“Who am I, really! Who are you?” Jason’s voice is unnecessarily shrill, raising an octave from confusion and stress. 

Then, both of them speak at the same time with similar levels of confusion. ‘Batsy, do you know him?’ Ringing out at the same time as ‘B, do you know her?’ 

Bruce, never one for his children’s tendency to shout was quick to answer. “Jason, this is Spoiler, her name is Stephanie.” He turned towards his daughter, “Steph, this is Jason. He was the second Robin; also that’s 4 dollars into the jar.” 

She gave him a condescending look before digging through the pockets of her suit. “Aww hell-“ 

“Five dollars.” 

“I have a stick of gum, crumpled receipt, and,” she took a second to count out the change in her palm. “69 cents. I guess I don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets tonight.” 

Duke chose that moment to walk into the room, most likely drawn to the noise like a moth to a light bulb. He offered a single ‘Nice’ to Steph before finally acknowledging Jason. “Did you say he was the second Robin? Like, the one in the case, or nah?” 

“The one in the- Bruce! What case?” Stephanie let out a low ‘ooooh’ when the tension began to rise in the room, looking between the two of them with a gleam in her eye. 

“Jason, it’s just a memorial, calm down. Listen, when you are up and about later, I’ll show it to you. Okay?” Jason’s shrug was hesitant, already he was making sure Bruce wouldn’t go back on the deal.   
—  
Dick was the next one to arrive. Not through the door, however. No, that would be too simple for the acrobat. He swung through the cave as graceful as the smallest bird and just as quick. 

“How’s Jay doing? Is he-“ his voice raised an octave when he saw Jason sitting upright and talking, “he’s awake! Holy brother, Bruce, he’s awake!” 

“I can see that, Dick.” Although he would never admit it, his sons' antics do amuse him, even if they can be a bit loud at times. Well, most of the time. 

“Little Wing! I don’t even know what to say,” a lie. Dick has something to say at all hours of the day. “I can’t believe you’re here! I saw your body but was sure it had to be fake. But then when Tim ran your DNA through the computer...Let’s just say I was not whelmed.” 

“Not feeling the aster either I’m guessing? Shame.” It’s...nice...to see them all again, to get to hear their voices and talk with them. It had been so long. 

Long enough that the pit had convinced him just how little they cared, and he had soaked up every one of its lies. He fully believed they had simply replaced him and moved on, like he had never existed in the first place.   
—  
“Brother?” The voice seemed to come from the walls. It was quiet, feminine, and cloaked in the shadows. 

“Ah, Cass. You can come on out, it’s safe.” A young girl stepped out of the shadows easily, dressed in loose-fitting clothes that hung over her small frame. “Jason, this is Cass, Batgirl,” the girl smiled at the statement while remaining silent. “She’s still learning English with Barbara so she doesn’t talk much.” 

“Jason?” She spoke as though testing the syllables one at a time. It was slower than normal and hesitant but he could tell she was trying. 

“Yeah, I’m Jason,” he offered his hand out to her to shake, “Its nice to meet you, Cass. You’re very good at hiding in the shadows, it’s impressive.” He tried to slow down his speech slightly, not enough to baby-talk her, just enough to make it easier to understand. Her nod of understanding was welcomed.   
—  
After that, no one else came into the room for a while, leaving Jason and Bruce alone with each other. “B, I-I’m so sorry. For everything, for disobeying and sneaking off, for killing all those people, for wanting to kill you. It’s,” he had to take a second to even his breath before he could continue, to hold off the tears blooming in his eyes. “It’s always there, B. It’s like an itch in the back of my mind. Always telling me to kill and burn and destroy. I feel like I’m viewing the world through a window, that it’s not me controlling my body.” That’s as far as he can get before the tears finally spill down his face. 

Bruce was quick to pull his son into a hug, brushing his hands through his hair as he tried to calm him down. “It’s okay, Jason, it’s okay. There’s something I want to show you but you’d have to walk, what do you think? I might help you clear your mind.” His boy nods lightly at the idea, offering his hands to help pull him up and out of the bed. 

He stands on weak, shaking legs but it’s better than laying down. Bruce helps to support him turning them both towards the stairs.   
—  
His room is exactly how he remembers it, with Wonder Woman posters scattered around the wall along with newspaper clippings of his favourite outings as Robin. His large bookshelf is dust-free and organised the same sporadic way it had been before. Bruce sets him on the bed tentatively before sitting down himself. 

“So, Jason, do you plan on giving me back my money or...?” Jason laughed at the idea. The roughly five dollars in change had made him a pretty happy guy at BatBurger a few days ago. 

“Ha, no. Nice try, old man.”   
—  
He sleeps good, very good, that night. It’s not perfect, but it’s home and it’s family. 

When the Lazarus returns in the morning, it’s a little easier to fight. After all, he has a reason to now. 

~ ALT ENDING ~

“It’s always there, B. It’s like an itch in the back of my mind. Always telling me to kill and burn and destroy. I feel like I’m viewing the world through a window, that it’s not me controlling my body.” He continues, ignoring the tears streaming down his face. “The Lazarus runs deep, B. And- and I know you don’t want to but I’m not giving you a choice. It’s been fun, so god damn fun, to meet everyone one and reconnect with you and Dick but I can’t put you at risk. I can’t end up like him. I’m a threat to you all Bruce, a walking weapon. I don’t want to be, but I am. Fate already played her hand and I cheated. Will you,” his voice broke yet again, the tears were pouring now. “Will you set it right? If you don’t, I will.” 

Bruce knows, he really does, about how Jason must feel about dying. Yet, he can only begin to imagine how it must be to return to life against your will. “It’s alright son, it’ll all be alright. Just go to sleep, okay? I’ll take care of everything.” 

It is so far from what Bruce wants. But, he knows that if he doesn’t do it, Jason will find a way to do it himself and that would be so, so much worse. The least he can do is make it painless for his son. “Alright, B. Goodnight. I love you.” 

It’s easy for Bruce to find the small vial and a spare syringe, even easier to fill it up with way more than necessary. It’s even easy to pierce the plastic of the IV and fill it with the new chemical, a painkiller and sedative combination he used exclusively in microdoses and for emergencies only. 

The hard part is planning a second funeral for his second son and trying to wipe the blood from his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my Batfam side blog as well!  
> [A Worm of Robins](https://being-robin-is-magical.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments are more than welcome! ~<3

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my brand new Batfam side blog as well!  
> [A Worm of Robins](https://being-robin-is-magical.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I might continue this so if you’re interested leave a comment and let me know. I hope you enjoyed ~<3


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